Crayola Confessions
by LittleSixx
Summary: The letter Steve Rogers never sent.


_A/N: Written on June 30th, 1943. This work has not been beta-read._

* * *

Buck,

It finally happened. I joined the Army. They're working on some top-secret project I ain't really able to talk about, but they think I'm a good candidate. Well, one man does. The rest of them look at me like all those bullies you pulled off'a me back in '39 when I was going through that phase where I'd throw myself at anyone who looked at me wrong. They didn't let me bring much along, so the only thing I brought of any value is my drawing crayons. You didn't think I would leave my No. 52s behind, did ya? I finally bought a pack from that art store on eighty-seventh and I can't put 'em down.

Is it odd to have favorite crayons?

Carmine is the strangest color in the pack. Buck, do you remember how sometimes in the summer we'd go up to the roof of our building in the morning? Six-fifteen, you'd roll outta bed in nothing but your shorts and grumble your way up the stairs behind me. We watched the summer sunrise and I'll never be able to draw that with any sort of truth. I don't have the colors, but carmine is close. It's that pinkish-red color you see when the sun first tries to beat back the nighttime. It's the first color to peek over the horizon. We'd sit there for a half hour, not say anything. Sometimes the top two snaps of your shorts were undone but you didn't notice. Ya didn't think I knew what you'd been doing, like I couldn't hear the up-and-down of your bedsprings from my room. I just wondered if you ever thought about me while you were doing it.

Medium yellow makes me think of you. It's the color of beer when you upchuck it and hell knows we've done our fair share of that. But mostly it reminds me of cabs. After that one guy gave me a real shiner on the cheek and made my gums bleed you spent some of your last money on a cab so we wouldn't have to take the subway. Never thought I'd like the color of puke but I think you could get me to do damn near anything.

Gold ochre was the color of the walls at the orphanage on 8th. It's such a disgusting, nasty color I threw the goddamn crayon away. The only good thing about the orphanage was that it was near Hell's Kitchen and that's where I met you. I still look like a twelve-year-old to most people, but not to you. Just thinking about the orphanage hurts, but it led me to my best friend.

Middle green was the color of my ma's garden. I'm sad you never got to meet her, she woulda loved you. She had a little garden outside, had all kinds of plants I still don't know the names of. I keep drawing them, though, since the No. 52 has the colors of most of her flowers. Pollen is one of the few things I'm not allergic to, so I loved playing out there. I'd help her plant bulbs and seeds, and she'd toss some dirt at me when I was being a little shit.

Yellow-red reminds me of those posters we used to see all over Coney Island. The ones for Steeplechase! Buck, do you remember the first time we rode the Parachute Jump? The ride operator looked at me like I was gonna fly right out of the harness, but you glared at him enough to convince him to let me ride. I remember my stomach flying up into my throat when we were dropped. Medium yellow nearly made an appearance there.

Celestial blue is the color of your eyes. Couldn't figure that out at first, but something in me snapped when I saw it. I stared at the crayon for ten minutes and swatched it on three different colors of paper before I realized I was thinking of you. Maybe I shouldn't remember that your eyes are celestial blue instead of maximum blue or cobalt blue, but I do and they are. I'd know your eyes anywhere, and you better not die before I see you again because I need you to look at me just to make sure. Just so I know which crayon to choose when I draw ya, is all.

Then there's red-violet, the color of love. Don't ask me why, it just is. It makes me think of you, Buck. Every fucking crayon in my No. 52 reminds me of you! You are in every part of my life, making every bit of it better. You may be across an ocean now, you may even be in a war, but you are always gonna be with me. It's crazy, Buck, but I think I might love you more than I should.

It's funny, actually. I got two red-violets in my No. 52.

-Steve


End file.
